


Play the Touch

by Fyre



Series: Desire Increase [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), hair petting, wherein the ineffable husbands take babysteps into physical intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley are trying new things.Wherein an angel pets a demon's hair.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Desire Increase [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784770
Comments: 33
Kudos: 277





	Play the Touch

Crowley had the most remarkable ability, Aziraphale had noted. He could sleep _anywhere_. Like a cat, he would sprawl, as if his entire being was naught but liquid encased in a human form. On chairs, windowsills, trailing down the staircase like a peculiar toy that little Warlock had adored.

On this particular occasion, he had chosen to claim the length of the couch as his domain.

Curled on his side, he had tucked his left arm under his head, the right crooked up against his chest, blending so smoothly with his coat that he looked more serpentine than he had in eons, but for the kittenish tufts of his hair now mussed in all directions. One leg hooked over the arm of the couch, his foot occasionally twitching as Aziraphale watched.

He _had_ been organising the shelves again. Not into any particular order. In fact, the opposite. One had to have a fool-proof system to ensure no one could find what they were looking for.

It had been quite diverting until he caught sight of the sleeping demon.

Did he dream? Aziraphale wondered. Was that why his foot twitched? What did demons dream of?

He pushed a book into another obliging space without checking the spine, fingertips brushing down the leather, the ridges of the binding pressing into his skin, much like Crowley’s glasses were cutting into his face.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

The angel set down the book and approached with all the grace and stealth of a soldier of the Almighty.

“Y’sound like a herd of fairy elephants,” Crowley grumbled into his arm.

Aziraphale perched on the arm of the couch beside his head. “I’m quite sure I don’t.”

“Ngh.”

His shoulders relaxed again, fingers kneading sleepily at the front of his shirt.

“Crowley?”

“Mm.”

“Shall I take your glasses off for you? It can’t be comfortable lying with them pressing into your face.”

For a moment, Crowley went so terribly still and silent, Aziraphale feared he might have overstepped, then those lovely narrow shoulders shrugged. “Go on then. Saves me the effort.”

Why it made his heart quicken, Aziraphale couldn’t say, but he shifted on the arm – and with the greatest of care – took the legs of Crowley’s glasses between his forefingers and thumbs. How strange that they both seemed to be holding their breath, as if this was more than some simple little kindness.

The shells of Crowley’s ears and wisps of his copper hair brushed the angel’s fingertips as he drew the glasses away, making him bite his lip, and as his eyes were revealed, Crowley gazed at him, golden and warm in the soft light of the shop.

“There we go,” Aziraphale murmured, heart beating a merry tattoo. He folded them delicately, one click, two click, and leaned forward to set them – lens up – on the table. He pressed his hands to his thighs, giving his palms a reflexive rub on his trousers. “That should be more comfortable.”

“Mm.”

He started to rise, but Crowley shifted his arm, just a little. Nudged his leg.

“Angel.”

Aziraphale peered down at him, concerned. “Yes, dear.”

“Y’can touch.” A flush of colour bloomed across Crowley’s cheek. “F’you want.”

From the heat in his own cheeks, Aziraphale suspected they matched in colour. They _had_ been cautiously taking little steps forward, but no matter how little, they were always both wonderfully terrifying and exciting.

He lifted his hand from his thigh – lord, how it trembled – and everso gently brushed his fingers through Crowley’s hair. The demon gave a happy shiver, a faint murmur of something like approval losing several vowels on exit and stumbling out as “Nggggh.”

His own sounds evaporated, lost in the buzz of his heartbeat.

Soft and dense as silk, Crowley’s lovely hair was warm against his skin. He curled his fingers, _dragged_ them, as though carving a gentle wake through the lush copper waves. It earned another symphony of sounds from Crowley, whose legs twitched inwards, his hand kneading at his chest.

He darted his tongue along his lower lip, then daringly skimmed warm flushed skin along Crowley’s hairline, venturing from one terrain to another, causing a seismic shift as Crowley all but pressed his head into Aziraphale’s touch.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, whispering a fingertip across Crowley’s tattoo, then tracking the Nautilus curve of his ear, delicately spiralling outwards.

Crowley made a small strangled sound, echoed by another as Aziraphale rubbed his thumb across the demon’s earlobe, the delicate skin soft and plump for squeezing.

A demanding twist of Crowley’s head sent his fingers slithering back into wild, dense lovely hair. An invitation he was absolutely unwilling to refuse. He carded downwards, until finer shorter heir gave way to his nape then, as Jacob upon the ladder, ascended again, spiralling his fingers up each delicate vertebrae until they dragged up and over the delicate curve of spine to skull.

And if he hooked his fingers just so, curled them inwards, raking through those lovely dense locks…

One of Crowley’s legs jerked and he tilted his face away, into his arm, only serving to bury Aziraphale’s fingers deeper in his hair.

“Too much?” Aziraphale asked, carding his fingers once more, smoothing the chaos.

“Ngh,” Crowley confirmed, the sole of one foot bashing emphatically against the arm of the couch.

As gently as he could, Aziraphale disentangled his fingers, breaking first the contact with skin and then – more reluctantly – the delicate brush of warm hair against his palm. He returned his hand to his thigh, pressing it there again, as if to imprint the memory of the textures into his skin.

“I should leave you to sleep,” he murmured.

One glowering golden eye peeped over a black sleeve, surrounded by a rose-red face. “F’you think I’m sleeping now…” Crowley growled.

It was awfully inappropriate to know that was his fault.

“Oh dear,” he said, hoping he sounded remotely recalcitrant.

Crowley groaned. “Shaddup, angel,” he mumbled, disappearing back into the folds of his arms.

Aziraphale bit down on a laugh, wiggling on his perch. Well, wasn’t that a lovely thing to know about Crowley? He pushed himself back to his feet and clasped his hands together, rubbing his thumb over his palm and pinking happily at the thought of doing it again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Play the Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647348) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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